Clouded
by Natushka-86
Summary: [Horatio-Calleigh] Suddenly she wishes she could be 4 again and for the first time questions why she ever got into this profession in the first place.


Title: Clouded  
  
Author: Nat  
  
Rating: PG-13, a few bad words..  
  
Pairing: While I do own a summer house in Vegas, I must return to my first love, Horatio & Calleigh  
  
Disclaimer: ::Starts to laugh, but the laugh turns into a sob, and Nat turns and walks away::  
  
Spoilers: Body Count  
  
Author's Notes: I've had this sitting on my computer for a while, and I must say, Damn! I was in a mood, coz yep I'll bet my liver on it, its filled with angst.. Thanks to my beta Phantom, for making it make sense!  
  
Summary: Suddenly she wishes she could be 4 again and for the first time questions why she ever got into this profession in the first place.  
  
Feedback: I LOVE it; Bring it on, the good, the bad, and the ugly!

Dedication: For Taya, just because.

---

"A wise man once said that tragedy is not what we suffer, but what we miss."  
--Anonymous

---

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. Janet shouldn't have died, her body abandoned on the beach as the first rays of light touch the ground. If the sun is the giver of life, then why won't it wake her? Is her body, still warm, too hard to stir? It touches everything and brings life, warms the coldest days, brightens the dullest sky. Is it to much to ask?

Suddenly it's cold and she wraps her arms around her herself, trying to ward off the cold dark cloud that is trying to engulf her and consume her. But she won't let it, not yet.

People are looking at her funny. It must be strange to see a woman trembling and hugging herself like its cold, because it's hasn't been this warm in Miami yet and people are still laughing and running into the water further along the beach.

She wants to yell at them, scream at them. To tell them you shouldn't be laughing and playing when someone so precious just had her soul ripped from this world by some fucking asshole who just did it to prove a point that she wasn't safe and that she would be next.

But she won't be next, he will.

---

When she was six, she had a golden Labrador named Bell.

Bell was her best friend, until some drunk fuck ran over her out the front of her house and left Bell for dead on the side of the road.

When she found Bell, it was too late.

Blood. So much blood.

She held the dog tightly as her heart broke for the first time.

She was six when she had her first glimmer of evil.

---

She pushes the gun against his temple, hard.

Her whole body tenses, muscles tightening, anticipating the kick back from the gun when she fires it. Her finger hovers over the trigger, and then settles against it like an old friend, feeling the cool metal push against the pad of her finger. She suddenly feels calm and taking this man's life will help her put to rest Janet's soul.

But she knows it won't.

But she wishes it would, because it would be so easy to squeeze the trigger right now, it would be easier to pull the trigger right now then actually try to convince herself not to. It takes everything she has inside of her not to pull the trigger. She keeps repeating to herself over and over and over in her head that she isn't like him and she won't be.

He took someone else's life, he doesn't deserve his, but even though that's true, he also deserves to spend the rest of his life rotting away in a cramped little cell and she secretly hopes that the things that go bump in the night find him and put the fear in him, like he did to other people.

Fucking asshole

---

Never hate your enemies...it will cloud your thinking.

She wishes she knew who said this in the first place, because she would love for them to be in her place, in her position right this second. How could she not hate him?

How?

He killed something pure and full of life. He killed an innocent.

The person, who made up that saying, she thinks, had never stared down the devil, because if they had, they wouldn't make up some bunch of words that seem so damn insignificant... and pretty much full of shit. Because at the moment her mind is so fucking clouded, she can't see anything else but him meeting a bloody death.

---

Even when Tripp arrives on the scene she still doesn't relinquish her hold on her weapon, and she doesn't move the barrel of the gun away from his temple. Her muscles have contorted violently and her whole body aches, but she won't move.

It takes Tripp 5 minutes to pry the gun from her hands, even then she doesn't relax. Hagen moves close to her and puts a supportive hand on her arm; she tears away from his touch instantly like he burned her, her voice is one tone when she speaks to him.

"Don't."

A trembling hand comes up to cover her eyes,

"Just don't touch me."

---

She remembers growing up with the distinct impression that there was always a happy ending. The prince always defeated the evil monster, rescuing the princess and then they lived happily ever after.

Good always conquered evil.

The child like ignorance that blinded her all through her childhood, of what really happens in the world, the evil it possesses. Innocent and unaware.

Suddenly she wishes she could be 4 again and for the first time questions why she ever got into this profession in the first place.

---

She's unsure of what to do now and she's never unsure. She's always prided herself on being in control and being able to hold onto that control. But it's slipping, slipping through the cracks that are starting to form in the wall she built up around herself so carefully.

Why are there cracks?

When did they form? She can't remember... like now she can't remember Janet's smiling face. She tries so hard to remember.

Why can't she remember?

She only saw Janet yesterday, Janet had teased her about being a workaholic, but if she is a workaholic, why is Janet dead? Because if she was a workaholic like Janet said, then Janet would be alive, because she would have done her job.

Fuck it.

Go to the indoor range and blow the shit out of as many targets as you can, because you know that will make you feel better.

Her muse laughs at her, who are you kidding? He won, even though he's back in prison.

---

When she told her Daddy that she was going to the prom with a black boy, she knew the reaction she was going to get. But she went with him anyway, she was not afraid of her Daddy.

The first time his belt came down on the flawless skin on her back for going to the prom with that black boy, she couldn't hold back the yelp. It bubbled up from her throat, and spill out of her mouth before she could stop it.

But the second time the belt sliced into her skin, she did not yelp, she did not cry. She stood her ground and she did not back down. She took every hit he dished out, she was not afraid.

So why does this hurt more, than it did back then? Why is she more afraid now, then she ever was at that moment of her teenage years?

---

Bang

Bang

Bang

She removed the empty clip from her weapon, placing it on the bench in front of her. She picks a fresh clip up and slides it into her weapon with ease and professionalism, she hears the tell tale snap, and starts firing at her target.

All the bullets she fires symbolise the tears she is yet to shed.

The tears she won't shed, she corrects herself. She won't let him get the better of her. But it's too late. He already has, and she knows it. He is in her system now, Hank Kerner...

Fucking bastard.

His name seethed through her veins like a poison, she had never truly hated anyone, not like she hated Hank Kerner.

She loathed him; there were no words for what she felt towards him. He had taken the life of someone close to her, someone precious. He took the life of a beautiful person, an angel.

It wasn't fair.

She screams loudly, but it comes out more like an anguished sob. She pulls off her mufflers and eyewear protection and throws them at the target at the end of the range. She curses Kerner's name more times than she can count, then she collapses to the floor of the indoor firing range.

She has never really been a violent person, but she clenches her fist into a tight ball and suddenly lashes out, her fist making contact against the hard concrete floor. Her knuckles never stood a chance, and soon blood oozes from her wounds. But it doesn't hurt.

Nothing hurts anymore.

Then she realises she's crying.

When did she start to cry?

She supposes it doesn't matter, but now the tears stream down her cheeks and the wall bursts, emotions spilling fourth. Vicious sobs take hold of her body and she can do nothing to stop them.

And that's how he finds her.

---

The first time she met Lt Horatio Caine she was instantly drawn to him. A quite man that had a commanding presence, you can feel it when he walked into a room. He seemed a man of control and etiquette, he never once belittled her or questioned her abilities, and he never pushed her to transferrer to Miami. He left it completely up to her.

He smiled some what shyly at her, as he spoke of her impressive career so far. He's deep blue depths peering deep within her soul and she has to remember that he will soon be her new boss.

But it was too late; she has already begun to fall in love with him.

----

He approaches her slowly, saying her name softly, hoping not to scare her. He can't see her face as a flow of liquid gold silk tendrils hide her from his view, but he could hear her sobs from all the way down the corridor.

He never thought he would see Calleigh Duquesne brake, but as he tentatively brushes her hair away from her face, taking away the curtain, he can't help but inwardly curse Hank Kerner's name.

He has never seen her look so completely and utterly broken.

Completely broken.

She looks up at him, helplessness in her eyes.

When he moves closer to her, she doesn't flinch. When he sits next to her and pulls her into his lap, she doesn't pull away. Because it is only him that can set her free.

The tender care he shows toward her brings another onset of tears and sobs.

God she needed him.

She clutches to him, as if he were her lifeline, she tries to form sentences but all that comes out is,

"I can't Horatio."

She continues to repeat this over and over in her head.

I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't

Then she picks a new sentence, her words muffled by her face being buried into his chest.

"It hurts so much."

She thought by now she would have run out of pain, but it continually stabs at her with a jagged edged knife.

Why won't it stop?

He pulls her as tightly against him as he can without hurting her, shielding her from the world and hoping she can draw some strength from his own body. His lips press against the top of her head as one of his hands rubs her back lightly in a soothing way.

She doesn't know how long she stayed like that in his arms, all she knows is that she doesn't want to let go. As her world spiraled out of control, he was her only constant. She needs him; she needs him like she has needed no other person.

Even as the storm around her gradually fades, he is still surrounding her, and that's all she needs.

It's all she ever needed.


End file.
